Soon the choir of crickets and frogs faded into melodic birdsong as the air became fresh with morning dew. Golden fingers of scattered ochre broke in over the pine trees, warming Silas's cold skin. He eased against his chains as his frozen muscles began to thaw. Eyes heavy, he released the tense air inside and closed his eyes. Sleep welcomed him into the land of dreams. But before he could slip off, the tent began to shift only a few steps before him. 

Arms stretched out from the canvas flap. Silas didn't even need to see the Vazeer's face to know it was him. Monroe stepped out of his tent, back straight and at attention, as he gazed up into the morning glow. He took in even slow breaths; arms stretched out in front of him, he dropped suddenly into the dirt and twig. Monroe gruffly counted each time Monroe pushed his body up before sinking back down, his nose barely touching the ground. When finished, he pushed off the dirt, jumped, and dropped down on all fours, counting again. After that, there was light stretching. Arms extended to the sky, then down at his ankles. Done with that, he kicked the tents beside his. Inside, the soldiers jolted awake.

"Rise and shine, men!" Monroe ordered loudly, but his voice never rose enough to echo off the trees. Silas grunted, grateful the Vazeer was at least half as intelligent as his position suggested. "We mustn't waste any daylight!" 

Emery crawled out of his tent, his golden eyes chafed with murderous intent. His mane was a chaotic mess of tangles, sticking up on all ends at the front and wild in the back. 

Fynn had fared better, it seemed, stretching his arms out towards the sun, hair perfectly combed back. Hands at his hips, he breathed in the new day. "Oo!" The Healer chirped, navigating his way towards a bush bearing dark purple fruit. "Blueberries!" He picked off a handful, stuffing his mouth and grunting with satisfaction with each juicy bite. "Oh, oh yeah, that's the good stuff. Sweet, too, so you know they're ripe." He spun around, extending his hand. "Vazeer Monroe, Em, try some." 

Ignoring him, the Vazeer held out his hand. Fractals beamed golden yellow in his palm. The light turned into itself, a mist that danced above his skin. It flowed around the rods of the tent, and the metal began to reshape. As liquid glistened against the bright sun, it became a weightless current, sloshing back and forth into a sphere. Monroe repeated this process for the rest of the rods in his tent. He wrapped up the tan canvas, then shoved the pieces into his bag. "Get a move on." 

"Aren't we going to have breakfast before we go?" Fynn whined as he pulled more berries off the bush. "My father says it is the day's most important meal."

Monroe glared at him. "Pack up." He turned to the thief. Golden light draped around Silas, releasing him from the chains. Flowed like liquid, it reshaped, solidifying around Monroe's waist like a belt. Silas watched as it looped through a coin pouch, securing it to the Vazeer's side. The only way to release it would be with metal manipulation. It was the same trick he'd used on Silas's handcuffs. 

"They're digging into my skin," Silas complained, his wrists out, hoping the Vazeer would have some empathy. 

Alas, there was none. Monroe's heart was as cold as the ice stone he'd stolen from the woman he'd killed.

Monroe turned away from him, his attention on a map he unfolded from his bag and laid it out over a tree stump. "Ceadercyne is southeast. If we're quick, we should arrive by midafternoon tomorrow." Judging from the scowl on his brow, Silas guessed the man wasn't so hopeful. Especially not as his gaze turned to Fynn, who continued to collect as many berries off the bush as he could, his tent still up. 

They moved out. 

The morning was bitter cold, but as the sun tracked across the sky, the air burned. Trees shaded their way, for the most part, offering a break from the heat. When the rare opportunity came, a breeze cooled them. Still, Silas's vision became hazy without water to drink, and his movements sluggish. His lips chapped, throat dry as a desert. All the water in him emptied through his skin, fermenting below his leathers and drenching his face. The fringe of his hair was moist against his temples. 

He wasn't used to this sort of heat. Yes, true, Ezterra was a subtropical island with dazzling white sandy beaches and palm trees to overlook them, ripe with coconuts that worked well for sorting out dehydration in a pinch. Silas's occupation kept him awake when the shadows were at their darkest. If necessary, he would leave his cellar to find work or food. However, he slept through most days. 

The nightlife was far more rousing anyway. 

"The heat is killing me!" Fynn rolled his head back, cantankerous as he whined, "Where's an Aquarius when you need one?" 

"Enough with your whining," Even Monroe breathed uneasily, his anger pacified only by his exhaustion. "We need to keep moving."

"If I keep walking, I'm going to die."

"If you ceased your incessant bitching, perhaps you'd feel less tired!" Monroe barked, making the Healer flinch, sinking into himself.

 

However, the silence didn't last long before Fynn let out a sigh that he was bored. "It would have been nice of Master Arx to send an Aquarius with us. That would probably be more useful than an Archiver." Fynn winced, quickly taking it back with, "Not that I don't dislike your company!

"My father says it is a worthless position," Fynn sputtered. "But I think it takes dedication. You know, to read all those ancient texts and familiarize yourself with magic even though you don't get to use it. Oh! Oh! I am so sorry! No, that's not what I meant to say. I meant you must be incredibly bright for Master Arx to appoint such a position to you." 

Monroe snorted. "He was not appointed to anything. Emery begged for the job every day until Master Arx broke down and gave it to him. You're proud of that, aren't you?" The Vazeer turned to his brother, his eyes cold despite the smirk across his mouth. "You couldn't even earn that fairly. Could you?"

Emery stopped, glaring, a brief spark of charring flame in his golden eyes. Silas expected him to lash out, for the brothers to engage in fist against metal until one dropped from exhaustion or killed the other. Instead, the non-magic Carpathian pushed passed him and said nothing.